


Of Angels and Demons

by Miss_Lv



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood Play, Dark, Demon Dean Winchester, Fallen Castiel, Knife Play, M/M, Obsessive!Castiel, Pain Kink, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-08
Updated: 2012-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-13 19:29:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/506932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Lv/pseuds/Miss_Lv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel failed to retrieve the righteous man from hell and instead Dean pulled them out, saved the angel when he could have left him to burn. Now all the fallen angel wants to do is prove his adoration for the demon, in any way possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Angels and Demons

**Author's Note:**

> This prompt asked for dark but not evil boys, I gave it my best shot and hope it's decent. This was rewritten since I wasn’t happy with the original. Thanks to silvrhuntress for giving it a read over for me.

Castiel did not have a soul.

Angels were unique in that they were purity and light alone. There were no shadows from a life lived on Earth in them; there was no taint for a demon to use. Torturing an angel was therefore a hard task. Alistair saw it more as an opportunity and was confident that they could break him, didn’t have to kill him. Castiel knew that it was the demon’s arrogance that saved his life, creating a chain reaction that would later prevent the apocalypse.

Dean Winchester was the righteous man, the one that Heaven sent him to retrieve, the one soul Castiel failed the most. Alistair had quickly concluded that his grace was connected to Dean’s soul – that there was some sort of link there for the angel to be able to seek him out of the millions.

In the beginning, Castiel was strong, unmoved and steadfast in his faith. The agony lasted always, every second was filled with pain, but he stayed strong for years. But each time he was torn into pieces and put back together he felt a tiny part of himself fall away. Dark thoughts trickled in and he slowly began to resent his siblings’ abandonment. Some part of the angel knew it was poison being whispered to him, that the gaping holes carved into his grace were letting the demons pour the shadows in. But he could not stop it, didn’t know how. But he held on ever tightly, grasping at his faith even when he forgot what he had such devotion to.

That was when Alistair assigned him to the soul of Dean Winchester.

It made Castiel weep, how beautiful it felt after nothing but mindless anguish for so long. He couldn’t remember who Dean was but he knew him, he knew him. This was what he had faith in, he was certain. Such a soul, so strong and bright even smeared with blood – it soothed his grace in ways Castiel had never known was possible. Yes, this was the one who deserved all of Castiel’s loyalty.

When no was watching, for a few precious seconds when eyes looked elsewhere, Dean’s soul would wash over him, giving warmth and mercy that Castiel clung to desperately, needed above all else. A few seconds of it was worth the weeks of pain afterward. The demons watched, cheered, as Castiel screamed the loudest for him, always for him, so that Dean was the one constantly cutting and no other.

When Dean’s soul whispered questions about Hell, about the gates, Castiel never hesitated to answer. And when Dean came to him, taking him from the rack, guiding him away, he went without question.

Because after fifty years in Hell, Castiel had not broken. He had kept his faith in something greater then himself.

And Dean Winchester was it.

 

“Hey Jimmy.” Dean crooned, voice light and easy going even as Amelia and Claire sat across from him, hugging each other tightly and crying.

James Novak stood stock still in the doorway, staring at the man from his dreams, his nightmares.

“You already know why I’m here man, but you got a choice.” Tipping his head to the side, Dean grinned, his eyes snapping black and Amelia cried harder, sobbing loudly in the silence of the room.

“It’s you or your kid.”

 

Later on while they drove down the road in a stolen car Dean pointed out that it was damn fine of the man to answer so quickly.

“It’s good to know that there’s some decent people left. That whole ‘choose my child over me’ shit,” he elaborated, glancing at the fallen angel with a smirk.

Castiel watched him without a reply, staring at the man as they drove down a dead highway. Dean had proclaimed James Novak’s clothing too uptight and promptly broke into a store and redressed him in jeans and a t-shirt similar to his own. But Castiel had liked the trench coat for some reason, hesitating to throw it away. Dean caught his indecision and easily backtracked, telling him to keep it, so he did. While he looked the part of a human now, suited to Dean’s tastes, he still felt stiff in the body and it showed.

“Jesus, Cas, you gotta loosen up man. You’re playing at being human; try a little,” Dean complained, smacking the fallen angel lightly on the shoulder playfully.

Castiel frowned back, tilting his head and just staring at Dean some more, eyes traveling over the body he had resorted for him, taking in every inch. After a long observation he relaxed his body, slumping more naturally into the seat and eyeing Dean he mimicked the pose of his hand, laying it along his thigh.

“That’s it, you’re getting it. Just watch people and learn it.” The way that Dean smiled then, pleased and a little proud, lit up everything in the broken angel and he took to his studying seriously, learning to mimic Dean. Helpfully, the man explained gestures and played out situations, explaining what reactions would be expected.

 

They stopped before they found Dean’s brother. The man insisted too much driving in a ‘crap’ car was bad for them. They found a bar in a small city, a good place to rustle up some fast cash Dean explained and proceeded to cheat men out of their money.

Castiel watched, observing the room and the way people moved, but mainly he just stared at Dean. Now that he wore a human body, his soul was hidden, but the flesh was still pleasing to watch. Dean moved with poise, years of being a human recalled, that made his step light and smooth. When Castiel said so, Dean threw his head back and laughed, a deep rich sound that made people watch him, drawn like Castiel was.

A woman in particular, bolder then the rest continued to bother them, talking softly to Dean and pushing her body up close. It made Castiel angry, irrationally so. An impotent rage built up each time she touched Dean. At first, the man was uninterested in her attentions, but then he noticed Castiel, fuming silently and he played with her, teased, and drew her along, all the while watching Castiel with amusement.

It was a test.

Castiel could tell that much. Why else would Dean let such filth touch him? All night long, the fallen angel tried to understand what Dean wanted, how he was supposed to react. When the bar closed down, Dean took the woman out back. His eyes told Castiel to follow.

In the shadows of the alley, the woman kissed at Dean, mouth sucking and licking. Dean smiled, dark and pleased but didn’t kiss her back. He just watched Castiel, waiting.

Like a baited animal he paced the shadows, watching unnoticed by the woman as his resentment mounted. When she got on her knees, he felt his anger jump and clenched his fists, thunder rumbling. Dean leaned against the building, his attention locked on Castiel while the whore, the filthy thing put her mouth on his flesh. Castiel had remade that body, had given up a large potion of his dwindling grace to resurrect Dean’s body for him, so he could wear it once more and be free of the usual exorcisms. One could not be forced out of a body that was their own, demonic or not.

When a low sound, something between a laugh and groan left Dean’s throat, Castiel felt something in him snap. Lunging forward, he grabbed her by the hair and yanked her back, dragged her away from Dean while she screamed.

“Filth,” he spat at her, pacing around her, his body trembling, adrenalin pumping in a way Castiel didn’t understand – couldn’t, so new in a human body.

“Harlot,” he growled, cursing at her while Dean stayed where he was, laughing, a dark beautiful sound.

The woman cried, eyes wide, and terror rolled off of her as she stared up into Castiel’s too blue eyes, a faint light glowing there, and then to Dean, who had nothing but blackness in his gaze. She sobbed and tried to crawl away, screamed when Castiel dragged her back.

He didn’t know what to do, why Dean had let this happen, what he was supposed to do. Castiel needed to know – he couldn’t function if he didn’t know. Panic grabbed at him and his body shivered as lighting flashed and thunder crashed hard above them.

“Cas.” Dean’s voice cut the panic in half, split it wide to fall away and the calm sank back in.

Castiel turned, hurried back to his side.

“Let the human go,” he crooned, instructing Castiel, and he didn’t glance at the whore as she stumbled away. Dean reached up, his body still exposed, still hard, as he buried his hand in the fallen angel’s hair and pushed him down to kneel like the woman had.

“This is for you,” he explained, voice warm, steady and everything to Castiel as he stared up, worshiped him. “Whenever I need to fuck, it’s your place to satisfy it. No one else. You don’t let them get so close next time?”

Castiel nodded his head, felt shame for not realizing it right away. Dean’s hand touched his mouth, parted his lips, and the once angel moved forward. Taking hold of Dean, smelling the heavy scent and nuzzling his face to the length of him, Castiel pressed soft kisses on the flesh. Parting his lips, he mimicked the woman, sucked the erection into this mouth and Dean’s hands led him, showed him how to move.

“That’s it, suck it hard,” Dean growled, pleasured, and Castiel felt pride that he could give it to him. He hollowed his cheeks, sucking tightly as Dean’s hips moved roughly. The hard use, the way Dean’s hands dug into this skull and the way he shoved at Castiel’s face, made Dean’s blood pump harder. Castiel could hear it. He did his best and was rewarded with a low snarl from Dean, his face grinding down, sucking along the cock in his throat as Dean spent, the salty fluid spurting in Castiel’s willing mouth until Dean slumped against the wall.

“Fuck, Cas. My angel,” Dean panted, fingers gentle now as they caressed the curve of his face, made Castiel look up with adoration as Dean gave him a soft smile – A secret thing that Castiel would learn with time that he showed no one else and Castiel coveted it desperately.

“You’re mine you know. I choose you, took you with me instead of leaving you there.” Soft fingers traced his face, along his cheek and over his brow. “Where I go you follow, that’s what I want above all things Cas, you right there with me, always,” Dean crooned, eyes black, as he touched the fallen angel, claimed him. “If you ever try to leave, I’ll destroy you, rip you up and put you back again until you understand your place.” The words came with the same loving tone and Castiel believed them, knew he would deserve punishment if he ever dared to forget the he was Dean’s.

“Come up here.” Firm hands pulled him up from his knees and Castiel stood face to face with the man. Dean’s hand curled around his neck, playing with the short hairs there as he brought Castiel in, pressed their mouths together and the fallen angel came undone. He pressed back frantically, driven but something he didn’t understand yet but trusted Dean to show him. The man laughed, called him needy and they kissed again, Dean’s mouth open and coaxing Castiel to follow. The slick sensations, the feel of Dean’s tongue in his mouth, sharing his breath with Castiel, leaving his spit and taste behind.

“Dean.” He breathed, trying to follow Dean’s mouth when he pulled away, amazed in an entirely new way.

“I forget,” Dean chuckled, close, but not kissing him again while his fingers undid Castiel’s pants. “How innocent you are. My angel who never got to experience sin, you’ve never even gotten off.”

When Dean’s warm sure hand touched Castiel, closed over his flesh, something in him gave way. He clung to Dean as the man led him, taught him sin. It was glorious and Dean coaxed him through it, showed him how to shove his hips, how to thrust into the warmth of Dean’s hand until he spilt his seed, mouth hung open, face buried in Dean’s shirt as a pleasure that was base and dirty and all-consuming over took the fallen angel.

When Castiel came back to himself Dean was there, talking softly and pressing kisses to his neck. His hand was smeared with seed and Castiel watched Dean lick it up, ran his tongue over the man’s fingers when Dean offered them. It was salty and bitter but he liked it, liked what it represented.

People came shortly after, police looking for attackers and Dean proclaimed it not worth the trouble so they slipped off, went back on the road again to find Dean’s Samuel.

 

The next time they stopped, Dean introduced him to food, sitting down at a diner, and Castiel discovered taste beyond water and semen. Castiel practiced how to slouch in the plastic booth, to knock his knees against Dean’s while the man ordered mixed plates, small helpings of different foods so Castiel could try them all. Some things tasted good, some tasted bad, and he tried them all for the way Dean grinned and waited expectantly for his verdict, like it mattered, like what Castiel thought of something mundane was important.

A smear of sauce dribbled on his chin – messy foods were turning out to be frustrating – and Dean reached out to wipe it. When he left his finger hovering, Castiel bent his head to lick the sauce off. The way Dean watched, his eyes locked on the drag of his tongue, and the faint taste of salt from his skin, made something in Castiel want. The same want/need from the alleyway. He told Dean so and the man laughed, grinned at Castiel with a look that made Castiel feel as if Dean felt the same wanting.

“You’re a horny fucker, Cas,” he teased, tone light, as his leg pressed up against the fallen angel’s harder. Dean fed him food, made Castiel lick his fingers more and watched him with a look that he had given the food, like he wanted to eat him.

“You fags need to cut the disgusting crap down,” a gruff man interrupted, coming up to stand over them as he sneered down.

Dean leaned back in the chair looking amused, the dark kind of amusement. “Oh yeah?” he inquired, voice confident and entertained. People were watching them, whispering furiously.

Two more men came up beside the first, trying to show a united front. “This isn’t a place for fairies,” the original stranger growled and Dean raised a brow, still radiating amusement.

Castiel knew Dean let it happen, that he could have avoided the blow easily. But he let occur, rolled his face with the punch. Castiel launched himself at once, yanked the man back and slammed his head against another table, cracking the skull. The other two attacked but they were pathetically weak, human and fragile and he broke them.

Turning to frown at Dean and the blood smeared on his face, his gaze fell to the knife on the table and he reached for it, intended to make the filth bleed the same way they’d dared to make Dean bleed.

The lights flickered and the glass rattled all around. People’s fear jumped up high all around the room but he didn’t care, just wanted to hurt as the rage burned, consumed him until he felt the sudden, soft, calming touch. Dean slipped his fingers around his wrist, the hand that held the knife and gave a little tug. Abruptly the hate was gone, died, and he turned to Dean, watched him wipe the smear of blood from under his nose.

“You’re too hair trigger. Gotta learn to keep your cool.” Dean lectured and Castiel dropped the knife with a clatter and took Dean’s hand in his own to lick the blood off.

“I find myself… protective over you,” he replied, voice unsteady with how true the words were. Dean was his all, his center and his calm in the storm. Without him, the shadows would consume Castiel whole and rip him asunder.

“It’s mutual,” Dean replied, tone light but eyes snapping black for a moment from the intensity behind the words. They left without paying and no one complained. Castiel felt deep satisfaction that when they left, the original attacker was dead.

 

“We’re going to have to kill Ruby,” Dean mused as short time later, watching the road as they traveled again. Castiel still had lingering grace and he could have tried to transport them but Dean insisted they drive, that he wanted to feel the hum of an engine again. The man was most relaxed while they traveled so Castiel voiced no grievance.

“Ruby?” he questioned and Dean quickly explained the demon to him. Castiel could distantly hear his sibling’s voices at times and Dean likewise could tune into the whispers of demons. From them, he learned that this Ruby was in contact with Samuel.

“She’s up to some shit related to Lilith, so we need to get rid of her.”

“Her knife would be wise to keep,” Castiel added and Dean smirked, nodding his head.

“Yeah, for sure man. But Sammy’s gonna be bitchy about offing her.” The soft pull, a subtle irritation that crossed Dean’s features disturbed Castiel and he wanted to sooth it immediately.

“Perhaps the best way would be to avoid the issue all together,” he offered and Dean frowned, shifting in his seat a bit as he glanced at the fallen angel.

“Like don’t tell Sam?” The tone was curious, without censure, so Castiel nodded and went on.

“This is a demon. They die often and I doubt Samuel is in her presence at all times.” The slow smile that took over Dean features warmed Castiel and the tension in him uncoiled.

“Yeah. I like that. No mess or whining from Sammy then. We could grab her and get some info from her too.” Dean grinned then; the dark one and he glanced from the road to watch Castiel for a moment.

“Good thinking.”

“I may not recall much of it, but I do believe I was rather good at tactics once,” Castiel replied and Dean laughed for him, reaching out to clap his knee and squeeze lightly.

“I’d believe it.”

 

They stopped for gas, since Dean liked the car and decided to keep it for a while rather then ditching it once the gas was gone. He came back from paying inside with something. Pulling open the driver’s door, he threw a small bottle for the fallen angel to catch and examine.

“Lube, man. We gotta break in that body,” was all he offered in explanation and Castiel just accepted it, settling in the passenger seat as Dean started the classic car.

 

Apparently it meant they were stopping for the night, checking into a motel during the midnight hours. Dean paid for the room with cash he’d collected from various wallets. Castiel was slowly getting into the habit of picking them off unobservant humans as well. The motel was simple, small but clean and Dean looked at home as he fell onto the bed and gave a contented sigh.

“All I need is some magic fingers,” he chuckled, kicking off his shoes as Castiel closed the door to the motel. Wordlessly he took the black marker from his jacket and started drawing. All of their vehicles had been marked as well, wards and sigils to keep them hidden, protected.

Castiel remembered only scattered bits and pieces of his life before Dean but among the agony he could pull up facts, information that was useful. After he worked for a time, Dean got up and started on the other side of the room. They sealed it up, ensuring they were going to be undisturbed.

“Done and done,” Dean proclaimed, tossing his marker on the table as he rolled his shoulders and they examined the markings covering the walls, ceiling and floor.

“Good thing they didn’t take a damage deposit,” he muttered before turning his attention to Castiel. It was an abrupt shift, all of the man’s attention suddenly snapped on him. Castiel met Dean’s black eyes and felt the hunger pulsing through him. With unhurried movements Dean closed in, circling Castiel slowly with intent.

“Got the lube?” he questioned and Castiel fished it from his coat pocket.

“Figure out what it’s for?” Dean teased, leaning in to press his forehead against the fallen angel’s shoulder, an amused, teasing slant to his mouth.

“I can read.”

Dean laughed low and long, stepping in close and tugging Castiel to meet him as he pressed their bodies tightly together. When his chuckles died down Dean kissed him, hard with intent behind the claim. Without pulling back he pushed Castiel’s coat back and down, letting it pool on the floor, forgotten. The contact was broken abruptly when Dean shoved him back, hard. The edge of the bed caught the back of his legs and Castiel collapsed onto the bed, blinking up at Dean as black eyes gazed back.

Dean straddled him, sat down on his lap with his full weight and lazily pulled Castiel’s shirt up, the fallen angel shifted and quickly shrugged it off while Dean dragged his hands over his bare torso, nails skimming lightly.

“You know who you belong to?” he asked conversationally, his gaze locked on his own hands as he flipped between soft caresses and hard clawing.

Castiel tried to answer but it was cut off when Dean dug his fingers deep, broke the skin and brought dribbles of blood. “Y-Yours,” he finally breathed out, feeling like he had in the alley all over again, left dazed as the man above him leaned down to lap at the smear of crimson on his chest.

“Yours,” he repeated, voice more sure as Dean suckled at the scratches.

“Mine,” Dean agreed lightly, licking along Castiel’s bare chest and drawing sounds from the angel. When he came to the soft skin of his vulnerable jugular, Dean lingered, teeth sinking in hard, feeling the pumping blood just under the delicate skin.

Castiel gasped, gulped for air and felt the man’s teeth bite harder in answer to the movement. Sitting up on his elbows, he tipped his head back further, gave Dean more access and pushed his throat against the man’s mouth, urged him and offered happily. A pleased sound came from the man on him and Dean let go of his neck, left spit behind as he sat up and stared down at the broken angel under him, obedient and willing.

“Every inch of you, from your messy hair and blue eyes down to your very bones and grace. It’s mine,” he hissed, eyes narrowed and daring Castiel to protest, but he simply nodded, as if Dean was stating common facts. Watching him intently, Dean slipped a hand between them, down to cup the bulge in Castiel’s jeans.

“This too, very importantly, is mine.” Head tipped, he watched Castiel closely, looked for anything as he squeezed the half hard cock through his jeans. The fallen angel gasped out, lips parted as Dean tightened his grip, made it painful but Castiel still arched into it, took what Dean choose to give.

“Mine and mine alone, if I ever catch you letting someone else touch you here, if you ever fuck or let someone else fuck you…” Trailing off, he rained soft, gentle kisses along the shoulder bared to him, up and along until he pulled at Castiel’s earlobe lightly. “Baby, I’ll make Hell look like nothing. Fuck, I’ll mess you up so bad, pass you around like a cheap whore and never touch you again.”

A whimper tore from Castiel’s throat. He chewed his lip and pressed his face against Dean’s nuzzled him desperately as his hands left the sheets to grab at the man’s shirt, anchor him close.

“Don’t. You can’t, can’t ever not touch me,” he babbled, mindlessly afraid, terrified that all these wonderful things could be taken aware. Sins of the flesh were unlike anything he had ever known, more base and violent but so vividly good.

“You. Just you, no one else, don’t want them,” Castiel swore, looked up at Dean with white rimming his blue eyes, showing the strength of the emotions coursing through him as the light flickered. Dean scrutinized him again; intent eyes boring down for a long breath before he nodded his head, seemingly satisfied, and the dark angel under him felt elation run through him.

Ducking his head, the man’s mouth, hot and wet, locked onto his skin once more. Dean nipped and sucked dark marks along his neck, bit down harder and harder until the fallen angel was gasping again, pressing back into the beautiful ache as the skin gave way and his blood flooded into Dean’s waiting mouth. He sucked for a while, hands lazily touching, stroking up along Castiel’s sides and over his stomach. Without leaving the flow of warm blood his hands encircled Castiel’s wrists, pinned him to the bed while Dean’s thighs caught the angles own between them. Lazily he rutted; the fallen angle could feel it, the length of the man’s erection pressed to his thigh while Dean dug his own leg into cock, rubbed roughly against Castiel’s body until the inexperienced angel was shoving back mindlessly, panting and writhing.

Dean left his neck and gave him a harsh kiss, spat blood into his mouth, and Castiel licked at it, suckled every drop he could get eagerly. Tilting his head, the man explored his mouth, the contact going lazy and somehow ever more intimate as Dean gave him a few brief tender touches.

“Mine.”

“Yours.”

Gulping down air, Castiel didn’t understand why his body struggled to breathe, why he couldn’t control it as Dean moved against him, rode his leg while Castiel could only hump back, the friction building up and coiling so stunningly. Hands combed through his hair, petting him before going tight and yanking his head back. Dean dropped a hard kiss on his neck, on the more fragile spot, the pressure enough to make breathing hard.

“The lube.”

Starting a bit, the fallen angel scrambled to remember where it was. He had been holding it but now his hands where twisted in the fabric of Dean’s shirt. Dropping his hand, he found the small bottle on the sheets, bringing it up for Dean to take. But the man shook his head, sat back and pulled his shirt off.

Going to his knees, he popped the button of his jeans and Castiel watched breathlessly as he stripped down, bared himself for the broken angel to drink in adoringly.

Dean settled back on him, straddled his hips, and then surprised Castiel by rolling them over, pulling him on top of Dean. The man laid back on the bed, watching him expectantly, and Castiel fumbled to figure out what Dean wanted.

Carefully, he dropped a soft kiss on his bare skin, over the broken tattoo on his shoulder. Dean’s eyes watched, giving nothing away, but he didn’t stop him so Castiel continued, pressing his mouth to warm skin adoringly and tasting the faint tang of salt.

Calloused hands curled into his hair, stroked the messy locks lazily, while he tentatively explored, kissing and lapping at skin, going lower, following the dip of Dean’s stomach. His erection was full and red, looked painful as the tip dribbled white. Curiously, he licked it, lapped the bitter seed into his mouth and Dean groaned, low and hard. With a positive signal from him, Castiel quickly repeated the action, licked the entire length over, tasting greedily. The scent of him was heavy and it did something to Castiel’s body, the feel of the erection under his tongue and sight of Dean, the sounds he made, they all accumulated and left the broken angel throbbing, the pressure of his jeans too tight.  
With one hand he reached down and fumbled to undo them while the other encircled Dean’s length, his cock, and slowly closed over the hot flesh. Remembering the alley, he opened his mouth and slid the erection in, closed his lips and sucked hard while he slid down.

“Motherfucker,” Dean snarled and the hands in Castiel’s hair went painfully tight. “Easy Cas, do it softer or I’ll fucking be done before we get started,” he growled and the fallen angel immediately suckled with less pressure, eyes looking up to Dean for approval.  
Curling his fingers around the base of Castiel’s skull Dean lazily humped into his face, going far slower then when they did this in the alley.

“The lube.” The man spread out on the bed hissed, “Get some on your fingers.”

Without stopping the rhythm Dean was directing, Castiel managed to open the top of the bottle and applied the cold liquid on his fingers. Dean took his hand and entangled their fingers, led them to where he wanted. Castiel followed, mimicked what he did and together they eased a finger up into him. It was tight and hot, the lubrication making it slicked, and Dean snarled out, arching into the touch.

“Do you get it yet? Know what’s going to happen?” he teased, watching Castiel as the angel blew him, sucked along his cock while their combined fingers opened him up. Blue eyes met his gaze as Castiel let the head of his erection come free from his mouth.

“I believe so,” he panted back, felt wreaked as their fingers pushed in harder, pressed in as far as they could. Castiel understood sex, the way it worked technically. He could recall seeing it and wondering why people could be so savage for it. But now here, feeling it, the hunger thrumming through him and the undeniable vicious want, he understood.

Pressing messy kisses to Dean’s skin, the inside of his thigh and curve of his erection, anywhere he could, Castiel watched, fixated on their fingers as the tight opening was stretched around them. When Dean’s hand pulled free, Castiel nearly pushed it back, so caught up in the motions. Instead though he bent his head and pressed his mouth there, felt the smoothness of the lube as he tongued the hole, flicked and pushed at the muscle.

“Fuck. Fuck. Yes, God damn, yes,” Dean snarled, arched into the touch so Castiel pressed his face harder, licked and sucked as best as he could. His own flesh was pulsing, throbbing and demanding something. Mindlessly his hips moved, humped the bed, and he didn’t understand why until the friction of the sheets, the pressure gave him some relief.

“Stop that,” came the sharp command as Dean kicked at his waist, forced his foot under and made Castiel lift from the bed. Mouth hanging open, the broken angel sucked in air, despite not exerting himself, he was winded, his body struggling, demanding in a way he’d never felt before.

Wide eyed and terrified by it, he looked to Dean and the man watched him, fingers petting his hair. They pulled lightly and Castiel scrambled to follow, went up along the length of Dean’s body until they faced each other. Without pause Dean kissed him hard, bit his lip until blood came, and sucked at it. Lifting his knees, he pressed on either side of Castiel’s hips and rolled them, put the fallen angel on his back on the bed while Dean was straddling him again. With one last lick at the blood welling on his lip, Dean pulled back, sat astride Castiel and looked down at him, black eyes contemplating.

“Who do you belong do?”

“You,” Castiel panted, hips rolling, seeking pressure in a way he struggled to understand. Tipping his head, Dean watched him intently and sat up higher to make room to reach between them. The touch of his fingers on Castiel’s flesh drew a gasp, his hips jerking, shoving against the skin without thought.

“Don’t,” Dean warned and Castiel resisted the base instinct, made his body be still. The head of his cock touched first, rubbed along the slippery sensation of the lubrication and he hissed, threw his head back and fought to be still. Dean watched, amused as he played with him, rubbed the head over the opening. The teasing felt glorious, like when Dean touched him the alleyway, such perfect sin.

Or so he thought, until Dean sank down, the tip pushing up into the man. The heat, pressure, smooth friction drew a startled whimper from Castiel.

“Dean.” His eyes slammed into Dean’s dark gaze, the blue of his eyes almost lost in the black of his dilated pupils and white power glowing though. The light flickered and the bedside table rattled. It was all consuming, the sensation of Dean. His mind chanted the name desperately and he whimpered, unable to stop his hips from jabbing up. The man on him allowed it, braced himself and sank all the way, rolled his hips once he was hilted with a groan. Castiel whimpered in answer, hands grabbing at Dean’s thighs as his body overtook him. He shoved up into the heat, pressed as hard as he could.

When Dean rocked them, slid up, Castiel thrust up, yanked him back down into it. He couldn’t let him get away, couldn’t give up the sweetest feeling he’d ever experienced. Something dark and dirty uncoiled in the fallen angel and he moved, shoved himself into the tightness viciously.

“Mine,” Dean snarled, pounded himself back just as hard, fucked himself down.

“Mine.” It came unbidden from Castiel’s lips but once it was out, he knew it was right. Dean had given this to him, said it was his alone as long as he defended it, let no one else try and take it. Castiel snarled, would kill anyone who dared, rip them into pieces and bury himself inside Dean over their remains. The darkness in him was freed, malicious and angry as he reveled in it, unrestrained as long as Dean permitted him.

He pushed in and in, deep as he could, grinding himself as he let his body lead him, followed it. Castiel felt out of control, unable to do anything but thrust into Dean over and over, frantic, painfully rough motions that made the man grunt. But Dean took it, let Castiel come undone, watching him closely and the fallen angel stared back, lips parted as sounds rushed out, loud and wild.

It was too much, too good, too right, it was Dean and Castiel would never stop worshiping him as he bucked off the bed. Everything was building up, coming, rushing to a point and he was terrified, it was so good, like the alleyway but a thousand times stronger.

Dean shoved back, grinding himself down, hands braced on Castiel’s chest as he rode him. Brokenly Castiel whispered the man’s name like a prayer, chanting as everything burned white, hotter and better then anything else, the body came undone, Castiel came undone.

When he slumped back to the bed, covered in sweat and unable to catch his breath, the angel tried to grasp the power of such a basic act. Dean moved, slid up and his flesh slipped free from him.

The man shifted back, lifted Castiel’s thigh and the angel laid compliant. The cold feeling of the lubrication dumped along his too hot skin made him jump but Dean ignored it, slicked him, pressed two fingers in and smeared it. Before Castiel could process the strange feeling, his fingers were gone and the blunt head of his erection pressed insistently. Without care for the burn of pain inside him, Castiel spread his legs and welcomed Dean in.

Shaking off the daze of his release, the fallen angel turned his focus to Dean, to pleasing the man. With a grunt, Dean pushed in, thrust up once hard and deeper until he was grinding himself. Black eyes looked down at him and Castiel drank it in, watched the gleam of sweat on the man’s skin. Tilting his hips, Dean started moving, rocking roughly and Castiel felt each movement, felt himself forced open for Dean. Greedily he took it, wanted more as he urged him on with the press of his calf on Dean’s lower back.

“Take,” he encouraged and watched the man above him snarl, hips moving with more fervor, brutal lunges that shoved Castiel up on the sheets only to have Dean’s hands on his waist slam him right back down.

The room was dark, the light blown out Castiel realized distantly. The faint light from behind the curtains gave a soft light to Dean’s features, brought attention to how beautiful the man was.

Complacent in Dean’s hands, he let the hard thrusts jerk his body, shove him around because he sensed Dean liked it, enjoyed that he simply laid there and took what Dean gave him. He could feel the motions going rougher, less timed and more frenzied as Dean hissed and groaned, snapped his hips savagely.

“You’re mine. Fucking mine. My angel, mine, mine, mine.” With a long growl he slammed in deep, pushed hard and shoved Castiel’s body down as his hips rocked in tight circles, pleasure overtaking his features as Dean released, privileged Castiel with his spend deep inside him.

Panting, Dean slumped down after a few hitched breaths, rested his head on Castiel’s chest and the fallen angel gently ran his fingers though his hair, mimicked the soft touches Dean had given him earlier.

“Love you Cas. Fucking love you,” Dean said, voice rough and uneven as the man’s arms curled around his middle, squeezed him tight enough to hurt. “Love you, kill you if you every try to leave.”

“I won’t,” Castiel replied, fingers dragging through the wet hair, watching the gleam of sweat on skin in the dark. “I wouldn’t know how to.” The adoration was clear in his voice, the worship he felt necessary because Dean would see him fit for such affection, such holy words whispered against his skin.

 

They went to a shop, not yet opened, and Castiel willed the door to unlock. Dean slipped in and gathered what they needed while Castiel ensured no passing humans would cause trouble. They returned to their motel and spread out on the used sheets, stripping down bare. Dean sucked back his bottle of alcohol, passing it to Castiel and insisting he help him drink it. After the first tastes, the fallen angel found the bitter burn grew on him.

Dean did Castiel first, using the tattoo gun to ink sigils onto his skin. Castiel drew them out and Dean made them permanent, charms and wards to repel curses and hide them from sight, to make them unseen to the supernatural. Castiel had already marked their bones, carved delicate Enochian, but the second set of wards was a wise idea. Castiel could have willed it but his grace was beginning to falter and Dean insisted they use the tattoo gun.

With a sly smile, he promised it would be much more satisfying. Dean took his time as he worked, made Castiel’s skin burn and enjoyed blowing on it so the hurt lasted longer. The broken angel liked it as well, took pleasure because Dean was pleased. The man licked the blood that welled from the work and sucked on the broken skin until it throbbed beautifully.

Before the fallen angel tattooed Dean, they had sex again, lazy and languid, and Castiel felt the sharp burn of his new markings along his skin as Dean pressed him into the bed, pushed his body up close and rubbed at the raw skin. The pleasure and pain mingled until Castiel could do little more then choke out sobs and spill again and again.

When he used the gun on Dean, Castiel was careful, precise under Dean’s sharp gaze. When the man wanted him to stop and lick at the drops of blood, he did so with privilege. Each time he drew a hiss from the man, or felt the throb of Dean’s erection against him Castiel knew he was given a great honor. To inflict pain on Dean as he had done to Castiel... few ever knew such a gift without retribution. He made each mark perfectly and then pressed his mouth to the skin, a kiss in apology, all while Dean watched silently.

They had sex again once he was finished, both pressing close, rubbing sore skin against each other and finding release with the bright edge of pain to make it even more.  
When they left, the motel was ruined Dean commented, amused by it as Castiel took one last look. The markings on the wall remained, the sheets well used, stained with blood and semen. It looked nefarious, as if something dark had taken place rather then the worship Dean allowed him. It was ironic he supposed.

 

Ruby was a screamer.

Her loud, piercing voice was easy to ignore at first, but after the second day, Castiel found it bothered him. The wails reminded him of Hell and he didn’t like it. Dean obligingly gagged her after Castiel mentioned it and the silence was nice, the soft whistle from Dean soothing.

In the middle of the fourth day she broke. Answered every question and suffered the consequences when Dean leaned she was feeding Samuel demon blood. The man took his anger out on her, using her own knife to carve into her, slicing back skin and ligaments so he could peel her tendons from her bones. Ruby was sealed in her vessel by sigils Dean carved into her, locked intimately so she felt Dean’s work until her human body was misshapen, not looking like a person anymore.

Castiel found himself fascinated while Dean cut into her. The graceful sweeping motion looked picturesque and his precision was stunning. Dean easily kept Ruby alive while inflicting excruciating pain on her. Something in his work, his concentration and the sheer power behind each delicate flick of his wrist entranced Castiel, stirred him until he wanted.

It was surprising. The fallen angel had been curious if perhaps watching Dean torture would bring back his own suffering in Hell. But it was the opposite.

“More interested in torture then you expected?” Dean teased when he took a break, sitting beside Ruby’s writhing body as he eyed the bulge in Castiel’s jeans.

“I…find your work fascinating, beautiful,” Castiel answered honestly and Dean smiled back at him, sly and dirty. Crooking his finger he motioned the fallen angel closer and Castiel went, kissed the man greedily as Dean pulled him to sit in his lap. His skin was slicked with blood and he left dark smudges as he pulled Castiel’s shirt off. Lazily he left bloody marks as he dragging his fingers, painting on the pale skin of his chest.

“Lay back,” he instructed and Castiel obeyed, putting his hands behind himself to ease down on the concrete, Dean following closely. The man paused though and reached back to grab a clean knife and drop it on Castiel’s bare stomach. Despite the blood coating his fingers, Dean easily undid the button of Castiel’s jeans and slipped a hand in. The feeling of his calloused and rough hand with the slippery sensation of the blood made Castiel gasp out, arch into the touch.

“There’s my angel,” Dean teased, stroked Castiel with one hand and picked up the blade with his other. “Keep still,” he instructed but kept touching Castiel, made him have to fight to stop his hips from thrusting. The blade was surprisingly cold, the pointed tip grazing his chest, not hard enough to cut but leaving phantom sensations behind.

“Dean,” he panted out and whimpered each time the knife slid along his skin. When it finally did break the skin it was entirely because he arched into it, pressed until he felt the pressure give beautifully. The knife was discarded, clattering on the concrete as Dean leaned down to suck at the wound greedily. Without pulling away from the cut he wrestled Castiel’s jeans off.

When he did pull back, he adjusted himself quickly, slid up between Castiel’s spread thighs and undid his own pants. Sitting up, Dean leaned back and Castiel watched him reach for the pool of the demon’s blood on the floor, gathering up a dripping handful. For a brief second they both acknowledged her, barely alive while they hungrily came together mere feet from her, but then Dean looked back to him and the demon was forgotten again.

The blood was what slicked him open, made the first push smooth as Dean sank into him, shoved hard and made it burn while Castiel reveled in it. The man loomed over him, braced his weight on his elbows and framed Castiel’s face with his arms. Pressing kisses to his mouth, Dean fucked slow but hard. Slammed up into him brutally but then lingered, grinded their hips before easing back to lunge again.

It was with Dean’s mouth on his neck, sucking hard as his cock pounded deep that Castiel came. Head thrown back he felt Dean’s hands on his skin, leaving blood behind as they sinned in such a gloriously filthy way. The man taking him followed shortly after, pulled back to stare down at him with black eyes as he privileged Castiel with his seed once more.

Dean went back to work on Ruby and the demon broke shortly after. Once all the information they could gain from her was given, Dean killed her unceremoniously. A quick slice of the knife and she bled out, the demon dying with the vessel.

 

While Dean was dumping gasoline on the body, Zachariah arrived.

Castiel recognized the angel at once and put himself between Dean and the threat.

“Castiel. So it’s true you survived Hell’s horrors.” The angel taunted, looking the fallen angel up from head to toe with open disgust.

“Not only did you fail to bring Dean back right. You broke under the demon’s rule.”

“Who the fuck is this douche bag?” Dean asked, his usual humor nowhere to be seen. Normally he took to being mocked with laughter, but when Zachariah ridiculed Castiel, he seemed to bristle. It warmed the fallen angel, reminded him that what he had now was much better then purity.

“He is an angel, Zachariah: the one who sent me to retrieve you.”

“Well here I am, retrieved.”

“Broken and soiled from top to bottom.” The revolted tone brought a fast burn of rage to Castiel as the other angel sneered at Dean.

“But still usable.” The afterthought wrung a snarl from Castiel and Zachariah raised a brow at him.

“How far you’ve fallen,” he said, attention on the broken angel.

Dean slowly made his way to the doorway of the abandoned warehouse. Castiel understood immediately and he called his waning grace to keep the angel’s interest.

“Really now, Castiel. You once had such faith, utterly loyal to our Father. And now look at you.” The words stuck a chord in him, the mention of a Father ringing true and throwing Castiel off. The higher angel smirked, trying to look pitying but lacking the compassion.

“What happened to that devotion?” Zachariah questioned before he blinked out of sight. Castiel spun around, too slow, as the other angel appeared directly in front of the door Dean was about to pass through.

“Now, now Dean. We have work for you.” The cocky expression remained firm, even as he glanced at the remains of the demon on the floor. “Not your usual I suppose, but it’s for the good of humanity.”

“Fuck off,” Dean snapped back, snapping his lighter opened and the overconfident angel completely missed the meaning. His mouth opened to reply but Dean dropped the flame and the holy oil ignited. Zachariah was trapped in the power of the ring.

Castiel made his way over to Dean. They had laid traps all around the room, expecting an angel at some point. Devil’s traps lined the high ceiling as well, they had both been carefully avoiding stepping under them. The warehouse was an ambush as much as a place for torturing.

“What do we do?” came the simple question, Dean looking to Castiel with calm confidence. The unease his once brother had created in him shrank away.

“If he alerts the other angels it will cause problems,” Castiel admitted, and they both turned to frown at the trapped prey.

“Of course they know already, They’re close behind,” he boasted confidently but Castiel could see a flicker in his grace.

“He may be lying.”

“How did he find us?” Dean questioned, bending down to retrieve his lighter and turning to Ruby’s corpse.

Castiel stared at the other angel, waiting for a smug brag but nothing came.

“It’s unlikely it was intentional. I suspect this might be chance alone.” Zachariah had always been very proud, eager to tell his own prowess, the lack of anything remotely arrogant from him suggested it was an accident.

The angel immediately tried to discredit the theory but his grace was steadily getting nervous, signaling far more then his lies. The fact he was alone was also notable, since usually Zachariah kept warriors close to his side.

The smell of the human flesh burning was putrid and Castiel wrinkled his nose, turning to watch Dean come back to his side.

“So what do we do?” he asked again and Castiel looked back to the higher angel, both he and Dean knowing the answer already. There was no time for torture in case someone came looking for the angel, and letting him go to report their existence was out of the question.

Zachariah sputtered, swore vengeance if they dared to leave him there, assured them an archangel was on the way. It was pathetic that he didn’t realize his own danger until Castiel had buried his blade in his chest, making a clean, fast kill. He pulled it out and the angel crumpled, his wings spread out wide and burning impressions into the concrete as his grace shriveled into nothing.

“Huh.” Dean paused, looking over the blackened remains of the angel’s grace. “Neat.”

“We must leave immediately. His death will signal others,” Castiel explained and reached for Dean, the man nodding his head once and they vanished, leaving the warehouse as Castiel urged the fire to spread out and burn viciously, toppling the building and consuming it.

 

A week later they were slowly luring Samuel after them. Dean had let his brother see him twice now, once from a distance where he played the role of being caught and slipping off quickly, acting as if he wanted to be hidden. The second had been after Samuel began to obsessively search for him. He let his younger brother catch him as he finished killing a shape shifter murdering locals of a small town. It was just a brief moment where Samuel confirmed it was his sibling before Dean took off, leaving Samuel forced to stay behind and look after the unconscious victims.

They had decided to play it out. Dean couldn’t simply appear and fail the test of holy water. They both struggled to work with it now. Holy oil and blessed objects burned so caution was needed. Dean was positive that Samuel would test him right away and things would spiral down. So they needed to reinforce that Dean was still good, still a man more than a demon, before they could properly reunite. Having his brother back meant everything to Dean and Castiel easily made it his own priority, needed to make Dean happy.

Right now they were waiting, keeping a close eye on Samuel as he suffered through the beginnings of withdrawal from the demon blood. The flask he carried of Ruby’s blood gone now and the demon was obviously not answering Sam’s fanatic calls. Her cell phone was sitting on the car seat and buzzing over and over.

Dean intended to call Robert Singer when it became too much for his little brother. As a demon, approaching someone desperate for his blood was just a stupid idea, he justified.  
Castiel agreed, even with the unique situation of Dean’s original body resurrected for him, and so they hung back. Throughout the chase game, there had been few quiet moments for them, and now it felt heavy in the silence. Zachariah’s words haunted the fallen angel and he couldn’t let the thoughts of his Father go.

“Father as in God?” Dean asked, leaning against the seat of the car as they sat in the shadows, watching the motel where Samuel was holed up.

“Yes. My Father. I recall little but knew I loved him very much. I feel some…obligation towards him even now.” The confession felt dangerous, but Dean didn’t look fazed but it. He just nodded his head.

“I think I get that. Going against my dad was never an option,” he compared easily, and Castiel felt a flood of relief fill him. He did not wish to upset Dean with his doubt but in the same breath, he could not keep things from him.

“What did your father want from you?” Dean questioned, and Castiel tried to think on it, recalling faint echoes of orders. Ruby’s words on the apocalypse had also struck something in the fallen angel. Dean was the righteous man, he had been taken to hell to be broken, it meant something, the word ‘broken’ meant something.

Something of… prevention. Seals. Broken seals.

Castiel let out a heavy exhale, the facts of the apocalypse suddenly clicking into place. Dean was the righteous man, the only one capable of stopping the apocalypse. The angels laid siege to Hell to save him, to bring him back.

“Wait. Me?” Dean frowned, watching the broken angel struggle to explain his sudden epiphany, spouting facts and biblical quotes in a rush. Castiel dropped his head into his hands, overwhelmed, and Dean slid over, curling a worried arm around him as he gently hushed him.

“S’ok man, we’ll figure it out,” he crooned, petting him until he went quiet. Once Castiel settled, head in Dean’s lap the man got his cell phone out and dialed a number.

“Sam’s holed up in Kearney, Nebraska, at the LazyDay motel, 8B, on the southside. He’s fucked up bad from sucking down demon blood.”

Castiel could hear the faint whisperer on the other line, a quiet unsure ‘Dean?’ just before the man hung up.

“You okay to switch vehicles?” he asked Castiel, a careful hand on the side of his head, caressing his face. The fallen angel nodded and Dean told him to wait a moment before he returned, his beloved car reclaimed as Castiel slid from one vehicle into the next, throwing their duffel into the back. Crawling on the seat, he hid his face in Dean’s lap again. They drove for a long while, the sun slowly rising until it was passed midday.

 

“You feeling okay?” Dean checked every now and then but otherwise left Castiel to sort himself out.

“I believe so,” he replied, feeling far more serene then he had hours ago. Castiel hadn’t lifted his head from Dean’s thigh and the man hadn’t asked him too.

“I am sorry to pull you from Samuel.” It burned inside him, the vicious snarl that he had failed his Father and now he failed Dean.

“Sammy will be fine. Worst case scenario he grabs a demon, drains it, and we start over. Bobby will get to him probably and once your head’s on right, we’ll check to make sure.” Dean spoke calmly like it was all part of a pre-existing plan, but the angel knew he must have hated leaving Samuel in a vulnerable state. It warmed him and his adoration coiled ever tight around his obsession with the man, that Dean would show him such affection.  
Eventually, Castiel finally opened his mouth and spoke his mind. Everything he knew about the end of days, he relayed to Dean. The man took it all in with little comment, features unruffled, as he combed his fingers though Castiel’s hair idly. After long hours, Castiel fell quiet, his voice hoarse.

“That’s… This is really fucking huge,” Dean summed up, dropping his head against the headrest and lapsing into silence, the car pulled over on the side of the road. Castiel simply laid there, staring at the wires handing from under the dash, where Dean had hot wired the Impala.

“You wanted to prevent it?” Dean asked after a long moment of silence, looking down at the fallen angel. “Like really wanted to, not just because you had to?”

“Yes. While I didn’t know all of the details, I knew my Father would not want humanity destroyed,” Castiel explained, knowing that he had believed it utterly and wanted nothing more then to obey his orders as he plunged into Hell.

“Yeah. I imagine my dad would be the same. Fuck. The world. This is so beyond a normal hunt.” A long exhale sounded and he rubbed his face.

“Fuck. We need to… We need to warn Bobby and Sammy, let them know this shit is going down.”

Something in Castiel was still. It had been building up for a while now, warring within himself. Castiel was fallen; he wasn’t a warrior of God anymore. Zachariah was dead by his hand, and despite what he now knew, he was certain any other angels coming for Dean would meet the same fate. Castiel’s love of his Father was something on a pedestal, distant but devoted. But Dean... he was entanglement personified. He had Castiel so tightly bound to him that the fallen angel doubted where he ended and the man began.

“And then?” he asked, a whisper against the denim of Dean’s jeans.

Given a choice, he knew it would be Dean, but the fact that there was one disturbed him. Castiel only wanted to follow, to obey, and he felt panic at the idea of having to make a vital choice between an old faith and his new one. But if Dean wanted to ignore what was happening, if he wished to refute his role as savior to the world, Castiel couldn’t stop him, couldn’t refuse him.

“And then? Jesus, we stop the freaking Apocalypse.”

The tension in the fallen angel unwound instantaneously and he relaxed into the calm’s embrace once more.

“A demon and his angel are going to save the Goddamn world.”


End file.
